


pay no worship to the garish sun

by johniaurens



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: HIV/AIDS, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Non-Linear Narrative, Period-Typical Homophobia, Reincarnation, it's not that sad like it's kind of sad but not THAT sad, ok @ major character death: reincarnation as a concept requires death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-11
Updated: 2016-05-11
Packaged: 2018-06-07 17:15:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,619
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6816106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/johniaurens/pseuds/johniaurens
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>this is the only story there's ever been. this is the only story there'll ever be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	pay no worship to the garish sun

**Author's Note:**

> “When he shall die,  
> Take him and cut him out in little stars,  
> And he will make the face of heaven so fine  
> That all the world will be in love with night  
> And pay no worship to the garish sun.”  
> #yayhamlet
> 
> i wrote this instead of doing my homework pray for me

“Hey, Laurens”, starts Hamilton. Laurens turns where he's lying down on the grass so that he's got his head propped up on his elbow. A few stray curls that have escaped from the bow holding his hair up frame his face. Hamilton pushes them back and Laurens leans into it, closes his eyes. He looks so blissed out, a rare moment of happiness in the middle of horror and violence. Soft. All round edges and sweet smiles. Hamilton doesn't remember what he was going to say anymore, but that's okay. It's okay. Laurens moves closer so that their chests touch. Hamilton closes his eyes, drifts off. 

John in the hospital. Alex in the hospital. With John – broken ankles and wrists. “Breaking your limbs at the joint is actually really easy, I'd show you but I don't want you hurt, baby, I can break mine, though, I think that'd work too”, says John, delirious with the pain and the medication, and Alex just pets his hair, squeezes his hand, doesn't tell John that he really needs to stop putting Alex before himself like this, doesn't say that it's not actually that easy to break your limbs but that it helps if you're trying to fight someone twice your size because he knows that's the point. With Alex – pneumonia, again, third time that year, his body will eventually fall apart from this, they know, they both know, and John does say something, says all these sharp things, ugly, “Alex, you're going to die on me and I will never forgive you” but he lies down on the bed next to him anyway, pets his face with both hands, shaking fingers, traces the sharp lines of Alex's cheekbones, the hollows of his cheeks. Alex: we can't afford to pay these hospital bills. John: we don't have any other options. 

Then - 

Laurens. Dead on the battlefield. Knife in his back – no, a bullet in his neck. No, a bullet in his heart. No, he's – outwards he looks like he's okay. Something's ripped his body open. Blood on the ground, in his hair, splattered over his face. In his eyes – the cloudless blue sky. No, a storm. He's drowning. Dead. Blue in the face. 

No. That can't be it. 

“Alex”, and it's soft, careful, and Alex is breathing again, sharp, uncontrolled, clawing at John's back, trying to get closer, trying to make room for himself inside John's skin somehow, heart hammering against John's chest. “God, Alex, you really scared me, fuck, they haven't been this bad for a while, what happened?”, and Alex shakes his head, doesn't have an answer. The room suddenly feels swelteringly hot even with the AC on.

It's cold. John doesn't have gloves on, doesn't have a hat. His coat's seen better days but then again, haven't they all. Alex picks at the loose threat at the sleeve of his shirt and John takes his hands by the wrists, kisses his fingertips, and Alex shivers like he's going to draw his hand back but he doesn't.  
Alex kisses like he's afraid he's going to break him, gets lightheaded so easily. Still goes to protests even if John has to carry him home sometimes, curled up like a baby bird in his arms. “We can't keep paying these hospital bills”, Alex repeats like a mantra. “Shut the _fuck_ up”, shoots John back, every time, the fire in his eyes like a physical thing, curls up further around Alex's shivering body. 

He's dragging Hamilton through the woods and he's already slightly out of it, disoriented and shaky on his feet, but John can't leave him behind, can't, refuses to, he'll get him back to the camp if he has to carry him. Hamilton is smiling up at him, droopy, eyelids half closed. “You're pretty”, and John scoffs, says, “this really isn't the time, private”, and Hamilton just keeps smiling. There's blood seeping through the wound on his side and John knows it's superficial, treatable, but they need to get back as soon as possible. “Freckles”, says Hamilton, and then he finally shuts up, and John focuses on dragging him along. 

“I do”, says Alex, and John starts crying, not pretty tears, not something delicate or cute but a panicked breakdown type of ugly sobbing, except he's not breaking down, not panicking, just doesn't know what to do with his feelings. They feel too big for his chest. Like he's about to break. Like there's a fist wrapped around his ribcage. There's an awkward silence for a split second, friends and family alike wondering what to do, and then Alex's stepping forwards, wrapping his arms around him, pressing his lips firmly into the skin of John's cheek. 

The smell of lavender. John's hands are shaking but Alexander leans his head back, offers more of his neck to him. “Thank you”, he says afterwards, earnestly, dressed again, freshly shaved. John flushes, looks away, suddenly embarrassed. “It's nothing”. Hamilton's eyes, dark, piercing, “it's not nothing”.

“Laurens -”

and then a shot. No, a letter. Hospital lights. He's breathing and then he's not. Lights out.

John hangs up the phone and Alex comes to stand behind him, wraps his arms around John's body, palms clasped over his heart. He puts his chin on John's shoulder. John leans back into him, lets the phone drop from his hand and onto the floor. “It's okay”, Alex says, as if John can't feel him vibrating with adrenaline against his body, as if he hasn't threatened his father with bodily harm over smaller things before, and John clenches his fists at his sides, breathes in through his teeth. “Yeah”, he says, “yeah”. 

Laurens has been getting increasingly tired as the war has dragged on so when abolition gets brought up again and his eyes get some of their shine back Hamilton wants to cry with how happy he is, not only because this is what they've all been waiting for, for something that proves that witnessing this endless death and violence is worth it, hell, that _experiencing_ all this death and violence is worth it, but because his Laurens has been fading away for god only knows how long and this is bringing him back, finally. They ride their horses into town and lie down on the grass and it feels nostalgic, somehow, John's face buried in Alexander's chest. Warm summer wind. Grass all around them. “John”, Alex starts, immediately forgets what he was going to say.

“John?”, soft, and John stirs, makes a questioning noise into Alex's hair. An ambulance passes their building, sirens on. The sound cuts through the cool summer night air. “It's nothing. Just felt weird for a second.” “Okay”, says John, kisses his forehead, stretches a little, sweet and sleepy and Alex suddenly feels overwhelmed with how much he loves him, doesn't know what to do with himself, feels like crying for some reason. Feels like drowning.

Laurens in his blue coat. John's freckles in the heat of the South Carolina autumn sun. Bright green eyes lit up underneath the streetlights. 

Laurens on one knee. Hamilton on one knee. John on both knees, saying “please please marry me so I am legally allowed to force you to sleep for more than three hours a night by whatever means necessary” and Alex saying “I don't think that's how it works” but saying yes anyway, saying, “and fuck your father, seriously. I mean _really_ ”. Alex saying “I know we don't believe in marriage or whatever and that marriage doesn't really believe in us either but I want to marry you anyway” and John saying “sweetheart --”, stopping there because he doesn't know what else to say to Alex with his red-rimmed eyes and too-pale skin, there on his knees, begging him to marry him. Says yes. Says “I promise to love you for however long you'll let me have you”, doesn't say “however long _it'll_ let me have you” because that's the only thing in the world Alex doesn't like to talk about. 

John kisses him hard, knocks their teeth together, and Alex flinches when he feels his lip split, eyes flying open, draws back fast as lightning and John follows him, confused, but Alex puts one hand on his lips. It's just a nick. Doesn't really even bleed. There's something unsettling about the panic, though. “Sorry”, he says, feels kind of uncomfortable. John looks worried, pets his neck and shoulders with both hands. 

“My dear Laurens, 

don't forget to get eggs i've been meaning to cook for you for AGES and omelets are literally the only thing i can cook i am begging just buy the eggs”.

The river water's cold and it stings against the bullet wound on Hamilton's thigh. There's a knife in his throat. There's a bullet in his stomach. There's something rotting inside of him. “Alex”, shouts John. Hamilton smiles back at him in acknowledgment. He registers the soft ripples of the water around him. “Alex, what are you doing, you're gonna ruin the ring”, John's voice closer than before, and Alex draws his hands back from under the water like it hurts. Dish soap bubbles everywhere. John kisses the back of his neck. The grass blades are tickling the back of it, too, the gentle breeze sweet in his hair. John traces his fingers over his heart, puts his hand over it. “I love you”, he says. The mechanic beeping of the machines is distracting. The horses raise their heads suddenly, alert. 

A shot rings. Then, only silence. 

No – in the distance, the sound of bells. The sound of laughter. And then --- 

Copper wire curls. Green eyes. Grass all around, and a blue sky. 

“Ah”, says John, easy, “I've been waiting for you”.

**Author's Note:**

> OK THAT QUOTES FROM ROMEO AND JULIET I LIED BUT IT IS SHAKESPEARE
> 
> come yell at me on tumblr @lcfayctte for being a fake lit nerd and for not doing any of my homework
> 
> comments are like, my food, and also my water?


End file.
